by Olivia Hayle
Not brave enough to wait for a response, I drive home and jump into the shower. Forty minutes later my hair is clean and dry, and I’m putting on mascara in the mirror. He might have seen me feverish and sweaty, but I want to remind him of what I can look like when I make an effort.
Slipping into the same tight-fitting dress I’d worn to the hotel and some matching lingerie—the only matching pair of bra and panties I own—I grab my phone. He’s responded.
Cole Porter: I’m in the Amena Building. Top floor.
That’s the only thing he writes, no instructions, no proper address. It’s so like him that I smile down at the phone. Perhaps I should tell him I’m coming over right away, but he might object. I might lose my nerve. Riding my new bravery high, I decide not to.
Thirty minutes later I’m parked outside of the Amena. It’s a giant high-rise in central Seattle, a beautifully sleek building. It’s the kind of modern look-but-don’t-touch architecture that I’ve always wondered who would choose to live in. Cole Porter, apparently.
My mother would call it soulless, and not figuratively, either.
I smooth a hand over my dress. Reckless, Skye. The great writers of old travelled the world on pennies for experiences. In comparison, I’m trying to seduce a man who’s already shown his willingness. It’s not remotely comparable.
I walk into the lobby of the Amena like I belong there. My kitten heels echo painfully loud across the stone floor.
A doorman stops me. “Can I help you, miss?”
“I’m here to see a friend,” I reply. “Cole Porter. He’s expecting me.”
I hope.
The man looks me over once before directing me to a receptionist, seated behind a copper-plated desk.
“For the top floor,” he tells her.
She gives me a professional, practiced smile. “Good evening, miss. What’s your name?”
“Skye Holland,” I say, feeling lesser by the minute.
“Thank you.”
As I watch, she makes a call, and then I’m forced to stand there while she informs the person on the other line—Cole, perhaps?—that he has a visitor.
My attempt at recklessness is now a four-person show. I should have figured that rich people come with a retinue. Tugging on the already modest hem of my dress, I give her a smile as my fate is decided.
She finally hangs up. “Welcome to the Amena. Gordon will escort you upstairs.”
“Thank you.”
He leads me to an elevator at the back of the lobby, only accessible by keycard. Inside, there’s only one button, and it’s for the top floor.
Wow.
Cole has his own private elevator.
And he willingly spent the night next to me in my little apartment to make sure I was okay.
The ride feels eternity-long, ascending toward the heavens, my heart beating frantically in my chest.
It finally slides to a stop and the doors open to reveal Cole, pacing in a hallway like a caged animal.
He stops when he sees me. “Skye.”
“Hey.” I step out of the elevator and give him a half-smile. “Your own elevator? Very impressive, Porter.”
He ignores me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. The pills you gave me did the trick. So this is your place, huh?”
I step past him and around the corner. Gray walls, floor-to-ceiling windows. The sparse furniture is severe and beautiful in a way that’s clearly meant to be admired, not used.
“Yes.” A strong hand wraps around my wrist and I’m stopped from going further. “You came awfully fast.”
“I realized something.” My breath catches as his gaze travels down to my lips, my neck, down my body. The tight black dress and the kitten heels. My hair, blow-dried and long down my back.
His eyes blaze when they return to mine. “Ah, Skye, you kill me.”
I inch closer and put my hand on his shoulder, slowly running it down the hard planes of his chest. “Don’t you want to know what it is I’ve realized?”
He closes his eyes. “I think I can guess.”
“Let me give you a clue. The thermometer was a pretext.”
“I’m gathering that, yes.” His hands reach out and grip my hips, fingers digging deliciously into my skin. “Have I finally convinced you to be reckless?”
“Yes.” I rise on my tiptoes and press a kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. “But this is a separate thing. It can’t interfere with the business deal.”
“Entirely separate,” he agrees.
Boom. Something sounds eerily like pots slamming together. Cole takes a step back, his hands releasing me. “Fuck. Give me one minute. Let me handle something.”
“You have a guest?”
“One minute. Don’t leave, Skye.” He disappears down the hallway with brisk strides, and I’m left in the larger-than-life corridor.
I inch further down and peek into his place. That’s when I see the two glasses of wine on the coffee table. One has a faint, but distinct, lipstick mark.
Voices reach me. One is dark and deep and delicious, even at this distance. The other is unmistakably feminine.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I tiptoe back into the elevator to avoid the sound of my heels against the stone floor. Everything inside me feels hot with embarrassment.
The elevator requires no keycard to reach the bottom floor. It barrels down, and my self-esteem with it, even though I know I have no reason to feel upset. Did I think he’d been celibate the entire time since he’d met me? No, because I hadn’t thought about it at all. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I give the doorman and receptionist a little wave on the way out and ignore the surprise in their eyes.
“Good evening, miss,” Gordon says, his voice growing in strength as I hurry past. “Would you like us to call you a cab?”
“No thank you!” I half run out of the stupidly fancy building.
My smile falters the second I’m back out in the warm evening air. Once I reach my car, I take a few deep breaths in the driver’s seat. It’s okay, I tell myself. I was reckless. I learned a lesson. And I’m never going down that particular path again.
I drive home on autopilot, my mind running over the interaction over and over again. The idea that he would get rid of one female guest to make room for me… would we pass one another in the hallway?
Hi, and bye?
Unease rolls around in my stomach. There’s a reason I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since college. I don’t do this. I’m not good at it.
Especially not when the dating game involves casual sex and hook-ups.
My phone rings, vibrating inside my bag, but I ignore it and focus on the road.
“You tried, Skye,” I tell myself out loud. “Maybe being reckless just isn’t for you.”
My phone rings again.
I ignore it again.
When I’ve parked and closed my apartment door behind me—back to my familiar, homely chaos, away from brutalist glass and severe furniture—my phone rings a third time. This time I look at the screen.
Cole Porter.
I press decline.
A message appears nearly immediately after.
Cole Porter: Answer your damn phone, Skye.
I don’t. Another text appears.
Cole Porter: Didn’t think you’d chicken out like that.
Oh, hell no.
With my hands nearly shaking from anger, I find his contact information and press dial. He answers on the first ring.
“Chicken out?”
He scoffs. “Knew that would get to you.”
“Glad I’m so predictable,” I say, “but I didn’t chicken out. You were clearly busy, and I didn’t want to be rude and force your guest to leave.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I did have a guest.”
It’s something I knew already, but it still hurts, irrational as it is. “See?”
“My sister.”
“Oh.�
�
“And while I very much appreciated you showing up unannounced, it did present somewhat of a dilemma.”
“Of course.” My heart sinks, both with embarrassment and relief. Way to be reckless, Skye. “I’m so sorry.”
“An apology? From Skye Holland?”
“I’m capable of it. God, Cole…”
He continues as if I didn’t speak. “Now, you never gave me back the thermometer. I thought that was why you showed up.”
I sink down onto my couch. “It was just a pretext.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here on the same one.” There’s a knock on my front door. “Let me in, Holland. I want my thermometer back.”
11
Skye
I open the door and there he is, face set in determined lines.
“You followed me home?”
“Yes.”
“What about your sister?”
“She understood.” Cole steps past me into the apartment, closing the door behind me. There’s a fierce purpose to his movements. “I told you to wait, Skye.”
“I thought you had a woman over!” My voice mirrors his, and I throw my hands up in frustration. “One you’re not related to, I mean.”
“And that would have bothered you?”
“Yes!” The question sinks in and I shake my head. “No. I mean, of course you’re allowed to see women. However many you want. It’s not like you need my permission or anything.”
“Good to know.” He takes a step closer and I react in kind, taking a step back. “But you were still bothered by the idea?”
He’s goading me to admit it, and damn him, but the words flow out of me of their own accord. “Yes. I didn’t want to meet her. Or take her place. “
“Take her place, huh? Tell my again why you came over.”
“Thermometer,” I say, putting as much haughtiness as I can in the word. Wanting him wouldn’t be so damn hard to admit if he didn’t draw it out like this—if he didn’t make me spell it out.
His mouth twitches. “Dressed like this? Not likely.”
My eyes drift to his lips, to the stubble along his jaw. “I didn’t think you were this slow. You must have figured it out by now.”
“Oh, I have,” he says, eyes burning. “I just want to hear you say it.”
“You want me to admit defeat? Never.”
“Not defeat. A truce.” His smile curves, crooked and sly. “You want me as much as I want you.”
Every part of my body wants to admit it, would say anything to have his lips on me again. For a few perilous seconds, I fight the impulse, but it’s a losing battle. I reach up to twine my arms around his neck and surrender. “Fine,” I say. “I want you. Stud.”
Dark humor glitters in his eyes. “Finally,” he murmurs, bending to press his lips against mine. It’s just like the kiss in the bookstore, powerful and deep and insistent. His mouth is demanding and I give in to its power. Strong hands run down my arms and raise goose bumps in their wake.
Despite everything—the fact that we don’t know each other very well, the competition over the bookstore, the vast class difference between us—it’s the same as it was in the hotel room. It’s uncomplicated, our bodies knowing one another intimately.
I press myself against him and he growls low in his throat. The sound reverberates into me, a moan of my own taking shape. He kisses down my neck and I swear my eyes roll into my head a little bit. “Bedroom,” I tell him.
The shake of his head is faint. “Right here.”
I crawl back on the couch and he follows, covering me with his body, the weight of him bearing me down.
Cole returns to my lips. I run my hands up his back as he kisses me senseless, a tongue seeking entry. Strong hands reach down and push my dress up so I can wrap my legs around him.
“This feels familiar,” I murmur.
His dark laugh washes over me. “Painfully so,” he says, pushing against me until I feel his hardness.
It undoes something in me. I pull his face down to my neck and bite his ear, my heels digging into his thighs. “Fast,” I say. “Slow later.”
He sits back, pulling off his sweater and T-shirt in one smooth motion. Tan, taut skin is revealed in all its glory. Hair on his abdomen, disappearing down into the black slacks.
I arch up to pull down my zipper, and he helps, peeling the tight dress off my skin and revealing it to his gaze.
His hands roam. My hips. My arms. My stomach. His gaze soaks up my body, my lacy lingerie, and I burn everywhere it touches.
“Sure you want it fast?” he asks, voice dark and coarse.
I undo his belt buckle and turn his former words on him. “Chickening out, Porter?”
He laughs, but it’s a short, heated sound. “Fuck no.”
I pull down his zipper at the same time as he reaches around and undoes the clasp of my bra. The lace falls down my arms and he tosses it aside.
“I’m pulling rank,” he says, standing up and kicking off his slacks. “Come here.”
Strong hands grip my thighs and I’m lifted up, held against his body. He knocks something over on his way to the bedroom.
“Leave it,” I say, though with his lips against my throat, it doesn’t seem like he’s even noticed.
He tosses me on the bed and climbs over me. My legs around his waist. His hardness against my heat, even through our underwear. His silky hair under my fingers. I’m overcome with sensations.
Cole breaks away with his trademark smile. “No hesitation tonight. You were more unsure that night at the hotel.”
“Only at first.” I pull him down again and rake my nails lightly over his back.
“Only at first,” he agrees, flipping over so I’m on top. His hands grip my hips and his eyes are on my breasts, my body, unmistakably hungry.
I grab his wrist and pull it to my chest. He cups obligingly, strong fingers pinching my nipples. “This, I remember,” he says, and sits up to put his mouth on them. He bites. I gasp.
This is what the hotel night had been like. No awkwardness. Full communication. The combination had made for multiple orgasms and more playful sex than I’d ever had before.
Heady waves of need pulse through me with each pull of his lips. I run my hands over his wide shoulders, the deep grooves of his back. I’ve missed this body.
Cole leans back and inspects my breasts—both of them full and heavy, the nipples now taut and red. “Perfect.”
I push him back and he falls onto the bed, laughing. “So impatient, Holland.”
“Very.” I reach down and stroke him through his boxers, and his laughter dies immediately.
“This is separate,” I remind him.
“Entirely,” he agrees.
I pull the waistband down and grip him hard. He hisses in painful pleasure.
“We’ll have sex.”
“Yes,” he growls. “Please.”
I stroke, once, twice. He’s throbbing in my hand, steel and velvet combined. “And afterwards, we go back to hating each other.”
The black of his eyes flashes. “Yes.”
He reaches out and tugs my panties roughly to the side. And then he does the same to me, the same power play, letting his fingers tease and circle until it’s difficult to focus on stroking him.
“Fair is fair,” he says, voice breathless.
I feel the same way. Every touch of his fingers increases the ache inside me. There’s not much more of this I can take.
Cole flips me in one strong move, and then he’s moving down my body, hands on either side of my panties. I raise my hips off the bed and he pulls them down my legs. “What did you think of the lace?”
“Very nice.” He puts his hand on me, fingers spreading me, before one of them sinks deliciously deep inside. “But I like this better.”
Something inside me warms at the praise at the same time as need claws through me. Judging from the dark of his eyes, he feels the same.
“And so wet already,” he says. “Fuck.”
/> “Already warmed up.”
Cole draws his finger out slowly. “Clearly.”
He sits up between my legs and spreads them wide, eyes not leaving mine. He grips himself and slowly runs the throbbing head along my center. Every time it touches the top of my slit, I mewl. He’s giving me just enough to keep me on the edge.
“Quit teasing.”
“No,” he says. “This is payback.”
“For what?”
“For leaving me that note instead of your number.”
I rise up on my elbows and slide my hands up my sides, cupping my breasts. His gaze shifts to my nipples as I roll them between my fingertips. “Two can play that game,” I say. It’s the kind of exhibitionist sex I’ve never had before—lights on, no shyness. There’s no space for awkwardness with him around.
Still watching me, he reaches down and circles my clit with sure, practiced fingers. Fire races through me like an ember to a flame and I collapse against the bed with a moan. It’s more than I can bear, and it seems like it’s more than he can, too. We lose the game at the same time.
Strong hands grip my hips and pull me tighter. The pressure at my entrance increases, delicious, not enough, I want—
“Condom,” I breathe. “We need one.”
His exhale is shaky. “Right. In your bedside drawer?”
“I don’t have any.”
“For fuck’s sake, Holland. Who wouldn’t—”
I push against him. “Stop wasting time. Do you have one?”
“I might. Let me check.” He disappears and I’m left on the bed, physically aching from the lack of him. When he returns, it’s with determined strides.
I lay back and watch him, his v-shaped physique, the wide shoulders and trim waist. He’s cut like a swimmer. It’s unthinkable that I’m not nervous or self-conscious around him, but here I am, comfortable and so turned on it’s painful.
He tears off the foil and rolls the condom on with one practiced move. “Had one in my wallet,” he growls. “Thank God.” He kisses me so hard I think I might bruise, both of us gripping each other eagerly. He grabs my thighs and pulls me close. I reach down and guide him.
